


Another Kind of Memory

by Queer_Trash_Queen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Surprise! - Freeform, bellamy blake is a mother hen, mentions of self harm, this one actually doesn't end with everyone dying, vague hints at past suicidal feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8454403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queer_Trash_Queen/pseuds/Queer_Trash_Queen
Summary: Scars are signs that the war is over, that we've moved on and have started healing. But some scars are a reminder of the war that will never be over, the battle some people fight every day of their lives. And sometimes that's the most dangerous war of all.
Or, Bellamy sees the scar on Clarke's wrist and freaks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote something that doesn't end in death, hurray! It's been so long since I've written a fic that doesn't have to be tagged "major character death", it's a oddly good feeling. No but for real, there are some mentions of self harm and suicidal feelings, so if that's not your cup of tea, you've been warned.

Crowded around a table in the chancellor’s office, arguing heatedly with her mother and Kane about what the best course of action is for their people, Clarke Griffin cuts an intimidating figure. Bellamy hadn’t forgotten exactly how fierce she can be when fighting for what she thinks is right, but it has been a while since he’s seen it in action against someone other than himself. He’s still not sure how someone so small can fill the room and seem to loom over everyone. It’s easy to understand why the grounders had been so quick to label her Wanheda.

She’s gesturing emphatically at the rough, hand drawn map on the wall, when her sleeve slips. It’s just a fraction of an inch, but it reveals the too-pale skin of her wrist and the raised red scar there. Another addition to the long, long list of scars collected in their time on Earth. He doesn’t know exactly what went down at mount weather, but he does know she didn’t go in with that scar. It stirs up old anger deep in his chest, but he knows they can’t hurt her – hurt _them_ anymore, so he refocuses on the argument in front of him and doesn’t linger on it any longer.

The next time Bellamy sees the scar; it hits him like a club to the stomach. It’s way bigger than he first thought, stretching from just below her wrist all the way up to the soft bend of her elbow. She doesn’t notice the way he’s frozen in place, too busy stuffing her jacket under the head of a kid (not one of theirs) passed out from a brawl. He’s seen scars like that before, on the Ark. Too many people in his station wore them with empty eyes and a blank expression. It was a mark of those who’d given up. His own mother bore twin scars on each wrist.

(He’d been the one to find her, of course he had. Octavia was still under the floor when he came home from school to a puddle of blood seeping under their bathroom door. He’d moved the table over the loose floor panel just in case and then sprinted as fast as any nine-year-old could to find a guard. Octavia never found out, young as she was.)

As soon as her mother arrives to take over administering first aid to the unconscious kid, he takes her arm and pulls her to the side. “I need to talk to you,” he says. He glances over at Abby, who still eyes him suspiciously, especially around her daughter. “Alone,” he clarifies. She gives him a strange look.

“Later, okay? I’ve got too much to do today. I’ve got to finish checking up on all the patients, take stock of our medbay supplies, I’ve got a meeting with Kane at some point about allowing our people to run our own patrols, and then – “

“Now, Clarke. Please?” He interrupts her, and she’s about to scold him for it, but something stops her. Maybe it’s the pleading look in his eyes, or the urgency in his voice. Whatever it is, she nods and lets him tug her along to his tent. He ducks inside, fingers still wrapped tightly around her wrist. He can feel the jagged line of the scar under his fingertips, and he feels sick to his stomach.

“Bellamy, what is it? You’re freaking me out here. Did something happen? Is everyone okay?” And shit, she sounds scared, but he needs her to understand. He can’t do this without her. There’s no way. He doesn’t say anything yet, just pulls her arm towards him and slides her sleeve up to her elbow.

“I don’t know what happened in Mount Weather,” he starts. “But I can’t lose you, not like this. I can’t do this without you. I -  _we_ – need you. You can’t… I don’t understand how you could be so irresponsible! This is reckless beyond stupidity; this is just giving up. It’s weakness,” he spits, panic rising in his throat. For once in his life he can’t seem to get the words out. Nothing can describe how much he needs her here with him. After everything, all they’ve faced together, to lose Clarke to herself…he can’t imagine anything worse. His thumb is still pressed into the scar, tight enough that there’s a small white circle interrupting the dark pink line of it.

“Bellamy, calm down. Look at me. Bellamy, _look at me_. This is nothing,” she gestures to her wrist. “This was a scare tactic to get me out of isolation, and then back into the hospital wing so I could escape. I thought,” she cuts off, her voice thick with emotion. “I thought you were _dead_. I thought I killed you when I let them close the dropship door. I was willing to try _anything_.” She takes a shaky breath. “And it worked, both times it worked. I would never, if I knew you were safe… look, I was desperate to get out of there. And maybe I didn’t care then if it didn’t work the way I wanted it to, but it did. And it’s different now. You’re alive, you’re safe. I’m not – I wouldn’t leave you, not like this.” Clarke takes his face between her palms and forces him to look directly at her. “I would never leave you like this Bell, I _promise_.”

The panic still lingers in his chest, but it feels like he can breathe again. Bellamy knows he’s probably scaring her, but he needs Clarke to understand why this is so important to him. His hands come up to cover his, and he can’t seem to take his eyes off hers. He’s suddenly aware of how close they are, probably the closest they’ve been since she took on the Flame.

Bellamy doesn’t have much of a chance to say anything after that, because Clarke is surging forward and their lips are colliding and honestly, it feels like this has been a long time coming. He freezes for a moment in surprise before returning the kiss just as eagerly. It feels frantic and a little desperate, but also like a promise, like _home_. When they finally pull apart, they’re both panting heavily, standing closer than should be humanly possible.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bellamy. I swear,” and Clarke looks up at him with those fierce eyes, the ones she gives when she’s daring someone to doubt her. Bellamy nods, breathing a sigh of relief, and wraps his arms around her. It feels like maybe they might be okay. Like they can do this. Together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I'n not thrilled with this one, but I have a bellarke specific prompt list that's like over 70 prompts long...and I've written about three of them, because I'm terrible at oneshots. So, on the off chance that any of you want more of my shit, pick a number and I'll try my best not to screw it up too terribly.


End file.
